A Slashy Number With Feathers and Sequins
by Romula
Summary: A bit of hilarity, just for fun, hopefully will amuse someone. Slash. WIP


A Slashy Number With Feathers and Sequins  
  
Chapter One: Monty Python's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
  
By Romula  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: Slash  
  
Author's Notes: Title stolen from a Holmes/Russell book. Words encased by asterisks are *stressed*.  
  
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Silence, to be cliché, cloaked the room. Or rather, the hallway. Well, actually it was more of a stairwell. . . but that really isn't the point. The point is that there was silence. A lot of it. It was heavy. And thick. And also nerve-wracking. Yes, heavy, think, nerve-wracking silence shrouded the room. Or stairwell.  
  
The two boys stood facing each other. They were strikingly similar, both small for their age (And here the author would like to laugh maniacally at you and refuse adamantly to reveal their ages, just to be annoying.) and lightly built. Of course, their similarities were largely physical. Actually, their size was pretty much their only similarity, for one was blonde with grey eyes and the other was brunette with green eyes. And one was wearing glasses. And had a funny scar. And was named Harry Potter. The other was named Draco Malfoy. Luckily for him, he never had to go to a public school, where he would have been beaten up for having such a queer name. But not only was he rich, he was also a wizard, so having a queer name was quite common for his type. But I digress. They stood facing each other.  
  
"Give it back." Harry said to Draco.  
  
"No, you lost it, remember? You can't be trusted with anything, and I found it so I'm keeping it!"  
  
"Knave! I shall smite thee with my staff of righteousness!"  
  
"?" said Draco.  
  
". . ." replied Harry. Draco nodded. "So, erm, what were we doing? Oh, yeah, give it back!"  
  
"I said no already. Gods, you really do need to have your head examined, Potter. Besides, it's not like you need it for anything."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to respond, and quickly shut it again. The light in the stairwell came only from torches, but even in the dim light Draco could see...  
  
"Are you blushing?" he asked incredulously.  
  
Harry only turned a deeper shade of scarlet.  
  
"You *are* blushing! Wh. . ." Realisation dawned on Draco's face. "You've been. . . but. . . *Potter*!"  
  
"Shaddup, Malfoy."  
  
Draco smirked. "I would start trying to be a little nicer to me, if I were you. After all, if this gets out, your entire reputation --"  
  
"Yours is in this too, Malfoy, don't threaten me!"  
  
"Oh, so touchy. Don't worry Potter, I wouldn't *dream* of telling anyone about this. The blackmail opportunities are far too tempting."  
  
Harry glared at the other boy and continued up the staircase. Or down. Or something. Be assured, he was moving away from the spot in which he had previously been standing, just as we move on to the next scene.  
  
Oh yes, and Draco followed him.  
  
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In a room of a castle overlooking a lake, a figure in an opera cape stood by a window, gazing upon the emerald grounds and sapphire sky, longing for the other half of his soul. Or his mind. Whichever happened by first.  
  
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"Her-my-uh-neeee," whinged a boy with sandy blonde hair and freckled skin.  
  
"Her-my-uh-neeee," whinged a boy with black hair and coffee-coloured skin.  
  
"Her-my-uh-neeee," whinged a boy with red hair and heavy freckles.  
  
"Her-my-uh-neeee," whinged a girl with red hair and ink smeared on her nose. Hermione glared at her. "What? How come everyone else gets to whinge, and I never do? Everyone else gets attention and pity and condolences, but people just think I'm being a brat? It isn't fair, and I am halting this story until I get the attention I deserve!"  
  
"You know I love you, right? Because you are just so adorable when you get all huffy? And you have ink on your nose," Hermione replied, hugging the red-headed girl, who happened to be named Ginny. "You are just like my cat, Ginger. Here, Ginger, have a treat," she said, holding out her Arithmancy book like a rare delicacy. Ginny slapped her.  
  
"Your cat is named *Crookshanks*, Hermione, and that is a *textbook*." She sniffed. "You know you'll be upset later if you give it away."  
  
Hermione turned away, disappointment written clear across her face. Ginny took out a handkerchief and wiped the ink off of Hermione's nose before attending to her own. Hermione, much relieved, turned to the three boys.  
  
"What seems to be the problem?"  
  
_______________________________  
  
Outside a room of a castle overlooking a lake, a short figure wearing a tea cosy was lost. It kicked the door, which gave way before its long-toed foot. "Aaaaiiiiiieeeeee!" it shrieked, before darkness enveloped its mind.  
  
_______________________________  
  
"If my name were Roger, would you still love me?"  
  
"That depends. Does this change in name entail the sudden desire to play pirate games?"  
  
The dark-haired man sulked. "No." A pause, then, "If I *did* want to play pirate games, would you still love me?"  
  
"Are you going to change your name to Roger?"  
  
"You wouldn't love me if I were a pirate, would you?"  
  
"Not if your name was Roger."  
  
A frown flickered across the man's face. "Oh. How about Chad?"  
  
The other man sighed, and ran a hand over his robes. "Are you trying to say that I don't satisfy you anymore?" he said softly, pain evident in his eyes. The first man's brow knitted, and he came to stand behind the second, wrapping his arms around him.  
  
"It was only a question. I would love you even if your name were Roger. Or Orville. Or Orson. Or Jimminy. Or --"  
  
He was cut off by the soft press of lips against his own.  
  
______________________________  
  
In a room of a castle overlooking a lake, a tall figure in an opera cape dragged a small figure wearing a tea cosy onto a sofa. It was a nice sofa, decorated in pale gold brocade fabric, with plum velvet end pillows and a rust-coloured chenille afghan draped casually across the back. The tall figure gathered his cape around him: it was lined with blood-red feathers.  
  
______________________________  
  
"Minerva."  
  
It was not so much a statement as a question, but the Headmaster of Hogwarts was too distressed to bother with proper punctuation.  
  
"Yes, Albus? What ever is the matter?"  
  
"Minerva, I don't know how to tell you this --"  
  
"Tell me what?" asked the black-haired witch, worry in her eyes.  
  
"Minerva, Voldemort is dead."  
  
Minerva McGonagall collapsed into a chair. This had nothing to do with her horror at having been named "Minerva," but rather was due to the declaration Albus Dumbledore had just made.  
  
"But I thought he couldn't be killed! We all thought he was dead before, how can you be --"  
  
"I am certain that he is dead," he replied. "We shall have to launch an investigation immediately, as the Ministry certainly won't do it. I cannot leave the school at this moment, so I am afraid I must ask you to go in my stead --"  
  
"Go where? Albus, what are you talking about? What investigation?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at her as though she had suddenly grown compound eyes, and McGonagall wondered if Professor Sprout had been growing her special magical mushrooms again. He shook his head sadly before continuing.  
  
"Minerva, Voldemort was *murdered*."  
  
Silence, to be cliché, cloaked the room. 


End file.
